


Four timelines in which they almost kissed (and one in which they definitely did!)

by DinosaurTheology



Category: Star vs. The Forces Of Evil
Genre: Awkward Kissing, F/M, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Kissing, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-03
Updated: 2017-03-03
Packaged: 2018-09-28 02:38:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10066784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DinosaurTheology/pseuds/DinosaurTheology
Summary: There are infinite timelines, infinite Stars, infinite Marcos. In this universe of possibilities they almost always find each other. But do they always kiss? The question gets a little more complicated, there.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Not mine but Daron Nefcy's--I would give a lot to create a character as cool as Star, really. This just seemed like a great way to celebrate the wonderful pain/discomfort that was Starcrushed and going onto the next season.

1.

Echo Creek's Winter Formal was pretty cool, at least as far as high school dances go. Janna had struggled, wheedled, cajoled and outright threatened a tantrum against any of their crew attending (wouldn't it be so much cooler, she reasoned, to check out to a graveyard and hang with some of her brand new, undead friends that she'd made with Star's Mewni board, instead?) but, as so often happened when a mere mortal's will clashes with that of Star Butterfly, the princess' boundless, cheerful enthusiasm makes it impossible to resist any idea she might propose.

And that's how they end up here. The theme is a hair's breadth away from plagiarizing Disney's Frozen and most of them have dressed to fit the part. Jackie's strapless, ice blue gown stops an inch or two below the knee and shows a lot of muscular, well-turned leg when she plops onto a lounge chair set up in the gym, pulls one foot into her lap and massages it. She offers Marco a sweet, dry kiss on the cheek. "I think I'm all danced out, babe," she says. "I really should have reconsidered those flats for tonight." She winks. "Why don't you and Star take a turn?"

Janna rolls her eyes. She slouches elegant from the neck down in a slim, black dress. The same ratty, green knit cap perches still on her dark tangle of hair. "You should have reconsidered the whole thing, duh. We could be in a super cool graveyard right this minute chilling with my new bae Billy."

"You're gonna end up, like, shot in the head, sweetie."

She chuckles. "What knowledge have the dead, indeed? I'd love to know."

Jackie shudders. "I need you to not find out for a long, long time, sweetie."

Janna shrugs and watches the dance floor. It's where the action is, anyway.

That's where they twirl together slowly, stately, cheek to cheek with arms intertwined. Star looked royal in a silvery gown that drapes off one shoulder and hangs to the floor. Her small feet, in silver slippers, peek out from under the hemline. A glittering tiara, from the crown jewels of Mewni, binds her long, golden locks and the scent of the Japanese Cherry Blossom perfume that Marco's mom gave her for Christmas hangs around the princess' neck and single bare shoulder.

When the music reaches its swirling crescendo, their lips almost touch. It's a close thing. She's close enough to smell the wintergreen on his breath--he'd eaten, like, a dozen of them in case of a make out session with Jackie, later. He remembers that Jackie, is actual girlfriend, is watching, though, and stops himself short. Star, for her part, would not hurt either of her friends for anything in the world, nor would she have wanted to kiss the Marco that would kiss her in front of Jackie, and blesses him for it. In another time, though, in another place...

But that's for thinking about later, under her covers, when the butterflies dance in a Butterfly's stomach.

2.

She's hurt herself--again. She stretched out her arm, wand in hand, to catch a blast of errant magic. The tendons in one slim shoulder pulled too far and... poof. This is just one of the many risks in the life of a magical girl warrior, after all, and Star knows she should be used to the way it feels. A sharp agony at first, after the horrible, ripping pop of the rotator cuff and labrum separating, and then a burning, tingling arm that lies dead and useless against her side. She should be brave, like River. She should be stoic, like Moon. She should be strong, like Mina.

Instead? She's about to cry like a baby. She's not really a pain wimp, not really. She's been cut more than a salami, bruised and even burned before. She's had more bones broken than she has not and pulled muscles don't even register anymore. Something in this is worse, though, somehow. Maybe it's just because she's been at least able to move, before. This feels awful. This feels like a lump of charcoal. This feels like...

Being helpless, Star, she thinks. That's what it feels like and you know it darned cornin' well.

Marco's hands are there, just where she needs them. His fingers are long, slender, strong and sure. He's got some foul goop that smells like the jerk seasoning his mom puts on those really good pork chops and massages it into the damaged muscles. "I got hurt kinda like this a couple of years ago--sensei noticed that I was doing good at semi full contact karate tournaments and so he decided to enter me into a kickboxing invitational. It wasn't anything huge, and the guy I fought was just another green belt but..." He shrugged. "I was a super skinny kid--even skinnier than now, and I will squeeze this shoulder if I detect so much as one giggle out of you. He was a lot bigger than me, a lot taller, a lot stronger. He knocked the crap out of me. Sensei apologized, said we'd stick to semi full-contact from now on. Then he rubbed some of this into my ribs where that guy's kicks landed. It burned but... it felt better. You'll thank me later. Trust me."

She can't answer, wouldn't even dream of giggling at his misfortune or doing anything but moaning in pleasure. His fingertips are wiser than Glossaryk, more powerful than Moon the Undaunted, and find each nook and cranny of discomfort. Even when the salve starts to burn--and it does end up blistering her sensitive, pale skin just a little bit, perhaps because humans and Mewmans are fundamentally different in some ways--the good outweighs the bad. And isn't, she thinks, that what we're looking for in life?

That's not the only thing burning.

Their faces are so close while he kneels beside her, over her. His eyes loom huge, dark, swimming with concern. A tidal wave of affection rushes across her body. She wants, needs, to push her lips against his, to taste and never stop tasting his mouth...

But her neck hurts. She can barely nod "yes" or "no" to his questions, let along crane her neck up or lift her arms to cradle his head and draw it down to hers. Another day, princess, she tells herself. We'll deal with this another day.

3.

"Unhand me, beautiful stranger!"

A lot of things coursed through Star Butterfly when the tall, muscular man that she'd had no idea was Marco threw his arms around her and held her tight. Confusion reigned supreme--who was this guy, after all? She was almost certain that she'd have remembered a chest and stomach that rock hard. The innate curiosity that made her often dangerous to herself and those around her slunk at the edges of consciousness, too. Even if she did not remember him, after all, he most assuredly remembered her. That's the kind of story that needed telling and, well, if you're the kind of princess that Star was and still remains you don't get the whole story by not climbing up a telephone pole or three in your time.

Another of the feelings that raced through her, and Star would not have a name to put on it until a sultry, sweat-soaked summer night five years in the future, was unadulterated, white-hot lust. It hit her lower belly hard and spread tingling, warm tendrils up and down her extremities to the tips of her fingers and toes. Star would have sworn, quite honestly, that it flowed into her hair and fanned in flames around the shining, golden locks.

It was everything she could do to not throw herself into this guy's arms and smother him with kisses--deep, passionate ones like the first she'd shared with Tom on Hell's front porch on Samhain's Eve. Something seemed so right about it, after all. His arms had felt so good around her, like she'd been there before and could stay for the rest of her life and beyond. He smelled right, like smoke, leather and the forgotten hints of a brush with danger. He darn sure looked right and, Star was certain, he'd taste just about right, too.

This wasn't the time for it. Hekapoo had Marco trapped in one of her ridiculous games and it was up to Star, as usual, to save the day. Great thing I'm so darned good at it, she thought. It wasn't until much later that she realized that she could kiss the beautiful stranger... it just wouldn't be for a while. Ah, well. Star smiled to herself when understanding dawned. Some things were worth waiting for.

4.

You cannot defeat a dragon, Moon Butterfly had once told her daughter, only survive one. It... didn't look like they were gonna survive this one.

Marco, she says. Member how you held me at Quest Buy, when the gift card I got for you kinda sorta tried to kill us?

Yeah.

Hows about we do that again? Just one fer the road.

He does. They cling fast to each other while the scintillating monster draws a crackling breath. Their lips nearly touch before the living fire wreathes them. They don't quite make it before the flesh blackens and sloughs off their bones. It's good yer eyes melt first, she figures, cause I don't wanna see this happening to you. As last thoughts go it's not a bad one.

Marco's parents wonder why they don't make it home for supper, that night, but they figure it out soon enough.

5.

All things considered, Star realizes years down the road, it almost had to happen on a friendship Thursday. Just about every good thing in her life did. They had Robocop ready to go on DVD (it was and still is, Star believes, the most violent thing she's ever seen and appeals to the ferocious Mewman magical-girl warrior deep in her soul) and a smorgasbord of Chinese food laid out in front of them on the coffee table in cardboard cartons. It wasn't quite six hundred and fifty dollars worth but... yeah. They'd put a little dent in Princess Marco's royalties with this feast.

Star slurps beef lo mein and picks baby corn out of the fried rice. Although she, as a Mewman, considers herself an expert on corn in all its glorious forms this particular delicacy seems native to this dimension. Maybe one day she'll try to plant some on her home soil? It's a good idea. She grins. "This is the life."

"Yeah?" He says it around a crab rangoon. The world's a fine place when the company's good enough to forget table manners.

"Yep. Got my bud, got all this great Chinese-y food. Got a movie that you promise me is blow my mind--and it had better have a ton of explosions, Marco, it had better. I can't think of anything that'd make this night better." She leans agains his shoulder. "Maybe tacos. Tacos make everything better. Ooh!" She rubs her hands together. "Sugaritos might be good, too."

"Leaving the horror that is sugaritos aside, we already have Chinese. We don't need Mexican, too."

"But Marco!" she says. "You're forgetting what you told me, in your history guy voice... this place is supposed to be a melting plop. Chinese and Mexican belong together for that to be true! We don't just need Chinese, and we don't just need Mexican. We need... er... Chimexan!"

"That sounds like an abomination," he says, "and the term is 'melting pot.' Where did you get 'melting plop' from, anyway?"

She shrugs. "I just figured, you know, that all the stuff just sort of..." She motions with her hands. "It just sort of, like, plopped together. And it melted. So... yeah. Melting plop. Just like Chinese and Mexican food would."

"At that point why don't you just get some lasagna and curry and add Italian and Indian food, too?"

"Ooh!" she says. "Oh!" Star squeals in delight. "Oh yes. Now you're getting it. Not just Chimexan but Indochimextal. Now you're getting it!"

"Kinda, but I still don't want to. That sounds like the name of some evil Aztec god of death."

"I met the Aztec god of death once," she says. "Back when I was dating Tom. His name's Mictlantecuhtli but we just called him Mickey. He's kind of a people eater and he's got that, y'know, Mr. Skull Head thing going on but other than that he's not a bad guy. Rockin them blood stains."

That's when it happens. Their mouths, up until then busy with Chinese take-out and harmless chatter, just sort of find each other of their own accords. Star feels her eyes slip shut at the same moment his big, melting brown ones do. He tastes like the peppers and cashews in kung pao chicken, mu gu gai pan, shellfish and cream cheese. She imagines that he detects the flavors of onion, soy sauce and the buckwheat noodles they use at Tan Cang in downtown Echo Creek. Chinese food is DEFINITELY an innovation that she'll be bringing back to Mewni.

Along with a guy named Marco Ubaldo Diaz?

The idea just kind of crawled up out of nowhere. This isn't the time for it. The kiss lasts forever and a day but somehow doesn't seem to linger long enough to satisfy. No matter how much of this junk she eats, here in these cartons, she knows she'll be hungry before Robocop is over just like she was before Lethal Weapon was over last week... and she's pretty sure she's gonna be ravenous for this particular taste for even longer.

Finally, decades later, she manages to say, "So, uh... how's about we start that movie, huh?"

"Yeah... it's pretty long. We've got school tomorrow and we'll want to finish it before we head to bed. Our beds. Our separate... beds..." He stammers, blushes, and she almost kisses him again.

"Yeah... you know Jackie and Janna told you how I be stealin them covers." That's it, Star, she thinks. Make a joke of it. Can't be awkward if it's a joke, right? Er, it could be an awkward joke.

The silence isn't uncomfortable. They lounge together intertwined and eating egg rolls while Officer Alex Murphy dies, is reborn and expends enough ammunition to fight both sides of a moderately sized Congolese political insurrection. She nestles against his neck and the skin of his cheek feels soft against her hair--she has, after the tragedy of June 16th 2016, made it a point to remove her horned headband on these nights. Not a bad way to spend Friendship Thursday, Star thinks, not a bad way at all.


End file.
